


Guarded by an Angel mild

by BrokenBones (Hikarinimichitasora)



Series: One Shots and Writing Prompts [1]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angels, Gen, Supernatural AU - Freeform, Tarsus IV, mentions of previous trauma, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 18:38:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hikarinimichitasora/pseuds/BrokenBones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are hundreds of things that Jim wants to ask, a million questions that swirl in his mind and he doesn’t know what to ask first, what to say, what to do, not with this man stood before him. He wants to scream that the man doesn’t exist, that he is beyond existence, surely, that Jim has seen a thousand different kinds of evil but not one agent of kindness in this galaxy. That in thirteen years of existence, there’s never been one shred of proof that God hadn’t forgotten about him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guarded by an Angel mild

**Author's Note:**

> Title from The Angel by William Blake.

There are hundreds of things that Jim wants to ask, a million questions that swirl in his mind and he doesn’t know what to ask first, what to say, what to do, not with this man stood before him. He wants to scream that the man doesn’t exist, that he is beyond existence, surely, that Jim has seen a thousand different kinds of evil but not one agent of kindness in this galaxy. That in thirteen years of existence, there’s never been one shred of proof that God hadn’t forgotten about him.

  
The man just waits patiently, doesn’t seem to push the matter, doesn’t seem to lose patience. He does not glow. He does not have wings. He doesn’t have a harp or a halo. He’s wearing a high school senior jersey, sleeves rolled up to his mid-forearms.

  
"Who are you?" Jim finally asks, because what else is there to ask in this situation. The man looks at him for a long time, before his lips quirk up into a smile.

  
"You can call me Leonard," he says and Jim pulls a face. The man smiles and leans down. His hands feel cool against Jim’s forehead as he brushes against a gash on Jim’s head. He feels his heart rate spike then slow, calmness spreading from the fingertips of this man.

  
"That name is lame," Jim says. Leonard lets out a small chuckle and straightens. He offers Jim his hand, pulling him to his feet.

  
Jim stares at his hands, at his arms, that were covered in the whip marks of Kodos. The scars are fading, his skin losing its papery texture as it seems to revitalise before his eyes.

  
"You’re young, kid. Can’t expect you to appreciate the power of a good name," the man says and Jim wants to scream that he does know. He knows the power his name holds. He knows how his own name, the Kirk name, has been whispered across the known galaxy and yet still he has fought to survive since he first drew breath.

  
"Why are you here now?" he asks and feels shocked tears come to his eyes. "Why couldn’t you have been here before? Why didn’t you save everyone?"

  
Leonard looks at Jim, his eyes steady even as his mouth turns down. “Because I’m only one part of this universe, Jim. Just one amongst many. It wasn’t my job to save everyone, kid. Just you. You’re going to do amazing things.”

  
Jim raises his newly strengthened arm and pulls it back. It feels satisfying to hit Leonard across the jaw, and the man even takes the hit, his head turning to the side. It doesn’t bruise, it doesn’t redden, and Jim’s knuckles feel sore from the contact. He draws his arm back again.

  
"Will hitting me over and over make your pain go away?" Leonard asks. It sounds like academic curiousity. "Because if it will, then continue. Hit me and hit me, but something tells me that it won’t change a damn thing about what has happened."

  
Jim knows the angel is right, but he can’t stop from punching the angel again. The angel lets him, eyes knowing, understanding, compassionate. It’s cathartic, a pain on himself that he can inflict, an anger and a helplessness that he can see evidence of.

  
"Why me? Why save me? Why wait so long to do it?" Jim asks and punctuates each question with another hit. Each time it feels like his fist has made contact with a concrete wall covered in freshly carved steak.

  
"You’re going to rewrite the rules, Jim. I can’t tell you how, I don’t know how. But you’re going to be important, you are important. You’re going to do great things, Jim, but sometimes you’ve got to go through some terrible things to get there," Leonard says. Jim grabs his lapels, pulling the man down to his scrawny height and glaring at him.

  
"I don’t care! I don’t care about doing great things! I don’t care about some kind of ‘master plan’ for me! I just wanted to see my brother again! Is that so much to ask?!" he whispers, his voice a low, cracked hiss. Leonard places his hands over Jim’s.

  
"I helped you survive, Jim, as I was asked to do. And in a few years time, I’m going to help you live with the life that was saved here today. You’re gonna be okay, kid. You’re gonna be okay," Leonard’s voice is soothing and Jim feels his shoulders hunch as tears gather ready to spill down his cheeks.

  
He can hear people coming, can hear the sounds of Starfleet. Too late. They came too late.

  
"There’s no such thing as angels," he hiccoughs into the jersey in front of him. The angel rests a hand on his head, a brief caress through his hair, then he’s holding onto nothing.

  
A blanket is placed around his shoulders, people are shouting, shining lights into his eyes, taking his temperature, asking him question after question about his health, about what happened, but he can’t talk,can’t explain what he’s been through, what he’s seen.

The angel is right. He’s survived, but he isn’t sure he wants to live.


End file.
